When You're Sick
by Xanagar
Summary: Anwar is sick, and Maxxie knows just what to do. Another fluffy piece regarding their intriguing friendship.


**Overview**

Title: When You're Sick

Author: Xanagar

Part: One-Shot

Rating: T

Genre: Humor/Friendship

Series: Skins

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of _Skins_, nor did I gain any profit from producing this fan fiction.

**Warning(s)**

None.

**Author's Note**

This is another short piece about Anwar and Maxxie, and the intriguing friendship between them. Once again, nothing sexual is intended in this particular fan fiction, although I'll leave it up to the readers to determine for themselves whether or not there are, indeed, romantic undertones.

When You're Sick

Maxxie was determined. He searched frantically throughout the drawers around him; he'd already cleared out the pantry, and just as he was beginning to believe he'd have to give up, he managed to come across exactly what he had been looking for. He breathed a sigh of relief. Mentally, he counted all of the items laid across the table in front of him, making sure he had not accidentally forgotten anything.

After a moment, he smiled. He said triumphantly, "He's going to love this."

---

Anwar was sick. And not just sick, but morbidly sick – ill, to the highest extent. His head pounded unevenly, sending agitated shrills down his body. He felt hot, and could swear that his pillow was drenched in sweat. Annoyed, he said quietly, "Leave it to me to become sick when I shouldn't be."

His mother had done a rather thorough job of keeping him in bed, forbidding him to move even an inch out of his bedroom door. He glanced out the window; it had steadily begun to rain outside, the drops of water striking mercilessly against his bedroom window.

He sighed. What a horrible day it had been thus far, and it looked like it could only get worse. Of course, that was before he heard his cell phone begin to vibrate. He picked it up, his head still feeling incredibly dizzy, as though moving it too much could cause him to shift into vertigo at any moment.

"What?" he said groggily.

The voice on the line said, "Keeping yourself well, I see."

Anwar blinked once, twice. He said, "Maxxie, what are you doing?"

"Just checking on my best friend, seeing how he's making out without me." Anwar noticed how incredibly vague his friend sounded in tone. Strange, but not altogether uncommon for someone like Maxxie.

"I'm sick." Anwar wondered if Maxxie would be able to detect the faint sarcasm in his voice. "So, no, Max, I'm not really doing alright."

"Taken care of," Maxxie said, and he sounded as though he were in a hurry. "You just lay still and get your rest. I'll be over soon."

Anwar protested quickly, "Wait, what? Max, I'm sick. _Sick_. Besides, my mum probably wouldn't let you through the front door anyway, so-"

"Gotta' go!" There was a soft click, and Anwar allowed his phone to fall lifelessly back onto his bed. He lay back down, closed his eyes, tried to imagine what in the world his friend could possibly be up to.

---

When he heard the sudden _swoosh_ nearby, he jerked awake. In his now open doorway stood Maxxie, wet from head to toe, breathing heavily. He carried two haggard-looking bags in his arms. "Hi," he said, shutting the door behind him.

Anwar stared. "What are you-" Suddenly, he stopped. "Actually, maybe I don't want to know."

"I," began Maxxie, dropping the bags at his feet, "am going to begin the grueling but necessary process of rejuvenating your spirit and, most importantly, making you all better."

Distantly, Anwar thought of a nurse taking care of a sick patient; of course, Maxxie was no nurse, although the idea of him in some sort of costume of that caliber didn't seem to be so incredibly impossible to him. "How did you even get inside?" he asked as Maxxie began emptying the contents of the bags, unfortunately out of Anwar's eyesight. "My mum won't even let me outside of my room, much less allow other _healthy_ people inside."

"I persuaded her," Maxxie said. "Surprisingly, she didn't object as much as I thought she would." He carried a large thermos over to Anwar who, reluctantly, took it. "It's soup," Maxxie continued. "_Chicken _soup. I hear it's great when you're sick. And the thermos keeps it nice and hot, too."

Anwar opened the thermos and peered inside. An enticing smell of chicken broth steamed into his face, causing his dizziness to become even more profound. "I know what a thermos does," he said, catching a spoon being thrown to him. "But you really shouldn't be here. What if you get sick? Then my mum really _will _kill me."

"Don't worry about it." Maxxie proceeded to produce a large, obviously homemade blanket. "My immune system is proper safe, it'll be fine. And here, this is for you."

Anwar eyed the thing curiously. It looked like an enormous sheepskin that had been pressed and compressed until it resembled a very haphazard quilt. "What is that?" he asked doubtfully.

"It's a quilt. I always used to use it when I was sick, as well. It's to make sure you don't get too cold after you've sweat out the fever."

Anwar watched as Maxxie gracefully opened up the giant quilt and spread it over his legs, taking proper care to tuck the edges of fabric comfortably underneath him. "You're like my mum," he said. "Seriously, Max, you don't have to do all of this. I can keep myself alright until I'm better."

But Maxxie looked at him with what he could only assume was a mixture of both humor and maternal fondling; he said to himself, _No. He's definitely worse than my mum. Definitely._

"I'm not going anywhere," Maxxie said dutifully, determined as he had been when he had come up with this idea – a _brilliant_ idea, he told himself. "Someone's gotta' stay and look after you. And who better than your best friend?"

Anwar sighed. He had been beaten. He certainly didn't have the strength to do anything about this, and so he stayed still, allowing Maxxie to make any other alterations he so wished. Then, as he had just began to take a spoonful of soup into his mouth – which, he had to admit, was delicious, regardless of how awfully unappealing he felt at that moment – he looked up and saw the other boy staring at him.

He raised an eyebrow cautiously. "What?"

Maxxie quickly caught himself and shook his head. "Oh, nothing." He went back to reorganizing some of the miscellaneous other things he'd brought along to help his friend recover. "Nothing at all."

Rolling his eyes, Anwar went back to his soup, thinking to himself, _Stupid Maxxie._ Then, rather blissfully, _Stupid, caring, Maxxie._

---

Owari

2/23/09


End file.
